


The Purple Snitch

by dracogotgame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 08:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13899903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracogotgame/pseuds/dracogotgame
Summary: The Eighth Years won't let a silly storm stop them from playing a game of 'Quidditch'.





	The Purple Snitch

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally published March 9, 2014](http://dracogotgame.livejournal.com/74819.html)

“It’s official,” Dean announced as he entered the Eighth Year Common Room. “The match is off. Storm’s too bad to play any decent Quidditch.”

Groans of disappointment echoed and all across the common room, shoulders slumped and faces fell. Harry sighed amidst the protests and grumbling. He had been looking forward to the first match of the season. As Eighth Years, they couldn’t officially play but at the very least, they would have liked to watch the game— even if it was Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff. Quidditch was Quidditch and while no one had really said as much, Harry knew that everyone of them had wanted to catch the game in action again.

It had been hard coming back to Hogwarts after the war. An entire summer of rebuilding the castle, putting the past to rest, attending funerals and memorials and trials...even now, the names echoed in his head.

_Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks. Cedric Diggory._

And it wasn’t just him either. Neville retreated for hours in the greenhouses sometimes. Only Ginny could talk him into coming out again. Dean spent almost all his free time on the Floo, talking to his parents, asking if they were okay.

And Malfoy...Malfoy still had nightmares from the war. He woke up gasping for breath in the middle of the night, at least twice a week. Nobody ever talked about it. In fact, Neville had shut Ron up with a sharp remark the one time he had brought it up. Now that he thought about it, Harry was pretty sure that was when Neville and Malfoy had become friends.

They had all suffered. Slytherins, Gryffindors, purebloods, muggleborns...none of that mattered anymore. All that mattered was moving on, living every day and trying to get past it.

The least they deserved was a bit of normalcy and now, a stupid storm had taken that away too.

“So that’s it?” Neville mumbled despondently. “The match is rained out?”

Dean nodded sombrely. “Hooch made the call ten minutes ago. The Ravenclaw Chasers threw one hell of a hissy fit but she didn’t break.”

“Brilliant,” Malfoy grumbled. “Now what?”

“There’s always card games,” Hermione put in. Her suggestion was met with another round of moans and protests. Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to her Charms notes.

“Or we could break out the Wizarding Chess,” Ron offered, with a somewhat ominous gleam in his eyes.

Malfoy snorted. “We’re not falling for that again,” he drawled. “Blaise is still lamenting the loss of his entire Chocolate Frog Card Collection.”

“He cheated,” Blaise grumbled from his corner.

Ron looked exceptionally pleased with himself. “Knight takes Queen. Works every time.”

“No,” Nott cut in firmly. “No card games. No chess. That’s all we’ve done this week. And no, we’re not playing Gobstones either. I need to go _outside_.”

As if on cue, a deafening clap of thunder sounded— immediately followed up by a crack of lightning. Nott sighed and slumped against the sofa, fiddling idly with a cushion.

Malfoy sneered and shook his head. “Well, that’s that then,” he added quietly. “We’re stuck here.”

“No.”

Harry didn’t even realise he had said it out loud until everyone turned to look at him. Malfoy raised an expectant eyebrow and Ron cocked his head. Hermione gave him that stern look that said in no uncertain terms _‘Harry, I know what you’re thinking and I want you to stop thinking it.’_

But Harry had had enough. He looked around the common room, and for once he couldn’t see ex Gryffindors and ex Slytherins huddling in separate corners, hesitant and mistrustful— unsure of what would happen if they strayed outside their makeshift groups. All he saw was a group of kids who wanted to play a game of Quidditch, who needed to mount their brooms and take off into the sky, chasing Quaffles and Snitches and dodging Bludgers. Perhaps he needed it, most of all. But Neville needed it, too. Dean did. Malfoy did.

“We’re not sitting here and waiting for the storm to pass,” Harry announced, clearly. Everyone was listening to him now, rapt with attention. A part of him wished he had listened to Hermione’s silent warning and stayed silent. He really didn’t want to play Leader. He didn’t want to tell them what to do and he doubted they wanted it that way either. But this was _important_. He just knew it was and if he could get them out there, on that pitch...it would change something. He didn’t know what but...

“Hooch said it’s raining too hard,” Ron pointed out. “We can’t play in this weather, Harry. I don’t like it anymore than you do but...”

“Actually, I think we can.” Malfoy spoke slowly and cautiously, wary of being shot down. His shoulders were stiff and defensive, but when Harry nodded encouragingly he rallied on nevertheless. “Hooch said we can’t play ‘decent Quidditch’ in this weather. She didn’t say we couldn’t play at all.”

Ron snorted. “Yeah? So what do you want to do, Malfoy? It’s not Quidditch if you don’t follow the rules. And I’m not going out there just to faff about on my broom.”

There were some mumbles of agreement. Malfoy’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he subsided. Harry watched as his expression went from hopeful to downcast again. He didn’t like it. Maybe Malfoy needed this more than him. Maybe Malfoy needed this more than anyone. Harry nodded to himself and made a decision.

“Come on, Malfoy,” he said, getting up. “Let’s get our brooms.”

Malfoy’s head snapped up again and he stared warily at Harry. But finally, he offered a slow nod and got up as well.

Every eye in the Common Room was on them now. Hell, Ron wasn’t even blinking. Harry didn’t care. They were doing this.

“Let's go,” he said, clapping Malfoy’s shoulder and leading him out, gently but firmly. “First one down gets a head-start on the Snitch.”

Malfoy responded with a challenging smirk. “I don’t need a head-start to beat you, Potter,” he replied. But his fingers found Harry’s and squeezed back anyway.

Harry smiled and joined him as they headed out of the common room. They were almost at the portrait entrance when chaos broke out.

“Oi!” Dean and Zabini called out together, scrambling to get up.

“Hang on a minute!” Neville blurted.

“Wait for us!” Ron yelped.

****

It really was bloody awful weather. Harry was soaked to the bone and the wind howled in his ears. His clothes stuck to his skin— clammy and uncomfortable — and he had long since given up looking for the snitch. But he could hear the laughing and cheering of his classmates as they tumbled and toppled and fought to stay on their brooms.

“New rule!” Zabini shouted, over the noise. “First person to score with all six Quaffles wins!”

“When did we get six Quaffles?” Longbottom demanded. “And I thought we agreed that only Hermione gets to make new rules!”

“New rule!” Zabini bellowed again. “Everybody gets to make new rules!” He zoomed off—presumably, in search of his first Quaffle— with Neville following close behind.

Harry laughed and executed an elaborate loop in mid air. There were no points for it, but so what? He could always make a rule for it if he liked...

“Potter, I forget.” Malfoy swooped in and hovered close to him, grinning mischievously. “Are you playing for the Falmouth Falcons or the Kenmare Kestrals?”

Harry grinned back. They had decided early on that nobody would be playing for Gryffindor or Slytherin or any other house teams, so they'd gotten creative. New teams were being formed every ten minutes. So far, Ron was the only one stoically defending the Chudley Cannons' honour.

“I got bored of playing for the Falcons,” he told Malfoy. “I think I’m playing for the Appleby Arrows now. Are you still playing for Puddlemere with Zabini?”

“As far as he knows,” Malfoy stage whispered. “I’m really a double agent for the Kestrals.”

Harry burst out laughing and Malfoy joined him. He looked ridiculous. Soaked to the bone with his blond hair sticking to his forehead and that silly grin... he looked _happy_. Harry thought it was a good look for him.

“Thanks for doing this, Potter,” Malfoy said quietly, once they had calmed down a bit. “I...I needed this.”

Harry smiled back and nudged his shoulder. “I did too,” he murmured. “I missed this, Malfoy. I missed you.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed. “I...”

“You lot!” Ron bellowed, swooping alongside them and cradling a Bludger for some reason. “If you two are done flirting, can we start looking for the Snitch again? Malfoy, new rule—you’re with the Cannons now. Hurry up, Dean is looking for the Snitch!”

“It doesn’t count if he catches it,” Malfoy replied dismissively. 

“Why not?” Harry asked.

Malfoy grinned again. “The rules say he has to catch a ‘golden’ Snitch. So I spelled it purple. Oh, by the way? New rule, we can do that now.”

Harry laughed again and Ron nodded approvingly. “Well done, Malfoy. That’s the kind of quick thinking we need on the Cannons. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to tie this Bludger to Neville’s broom for an extra hundred points.”

He zoomed off, leaving them behind again. Somewhere in the distance, Dean was shouting something about purple snitches being worth three hundred points.

“Do you want to see who can catch the most Quaffles in ten minutes?” Harry asked.

“You’re on, Potter,” Malfoy replied. “Winner gets Blaise’s card collection!” He took off at once, a pale, blond blur disappearing into the wind and the rain.

And Harry followed him with a soaring heart.

****

“We really should put a stop to it,” Madame Hooch declared disapprovingly as she watched the chaos unfold from a small balcony. “This is no way to treat a noble sport.”

“Oh, I doubt they mean any harm,” Headmistress McGonagall replied. She suppressed a slight smile as she watched Potter and Malfoy tossing a Quaffle around before abandoning it and racing for the Snitch again. A purple Snitch, at that. She didn’t pretend to understand her Eighth Year students. They were not like the others, these ones. These were children who had grown up much too fast and seen far too much. Too much pain and too much fear and far too much loss.

But if flying around in the thick of a storm like a bunch of reckless hooligans made them happy, well perhaps she owed them that. It was quite frankly, the least she could do.

“I suppose not,” Hooch grumbled. “But honestly, look at them! Longbottom just turned that Bludger into a pillow!”

Minerva heard the echoes of laughter from the pitch. This time, she couldn't stop the smile. “It’s alright, Rolanda,” she said, soothing her irate colleague. “They’re just children.”

****


End file.
